The elders called everyone to the council hall.
Not just fighters.
Everyone.
That alone unsettled Kael.
The hall filled slowly. Watchers stood beside Shields. Strikers leaned against pillars. Trainees whispered among themselves. Even older villagers had been allowed inside, sitting quietly near the back.
The air was tense, not loud.
Ronas stood at the front with the other elders. A large slate rested beside them, covered with simple markings.
When the doors finally closed, Ronas stepped forward.
"You deserve clarity," he said.
The murmurs faded.
"For a long time," Ronas continued, "we treated the sea as a constant threat. Dangerous, yes—but familiar."
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"That changed," Ronas said, "ten years ago."
The hall went still.
Kael felt it immediately. Others did too.
Ten years ago.
"That year," Ronas went on, "was when the first abnormal sightings were reported."
A Shield spoke quietly. "The year the boy vanished."
Ronas did not correct him.
Instead, he nodded once.
"That was also the year the sea changed."
The words settled heavily.
Ronas gestured toward the slate.
"At first, we did not understand what we were seeing," he said. "Creatures unlike anything recorded before. They did not behave like animals. They did not migrate. They did not hunt to feed."
He paused.
"They appeared, attacked, and withdrew."
Kael listened closely.
"We believed it was coincidence," Ronas continued. "A disturbance. A passing anomaly."
Rask scoffed from the side. "We were wrong."
Ronas did not deny it.
"So we began to observe," Ronas said. "To record patterns. To name what we could not explain."
He pointed to the first marking.
"Drifters."
A low murmur followed.
"They were the first to appear," Ronas said. "Small. Fast. Often alone or in pairs. They tested our shores, then retreated."
Tavian leaned toward Kael. "That matches the early logs."
Ronas continued.
"At the time, we thought they were scouts. Probes sent ahead of something larger."
"Sent by what?" someone asked.
Ronas shook his head. "That question remains unanswered."
He moved to the next symbol.
"Breakers."
The mood shifted.
"These appeared years later," Ronas said. "Heavily armored. Direct. Designed to damage shore defenses."
A Warden nodded. "That was when casualties began rising."
"Yes," Ronas said. "And that was when we stopped believing this was chance."
Kael folded his arms.
"And the third?" Lyra asked.
Ronas hesitated.
Then he pointed to the final symbol.
"Anchors."
The hall fell silent.
"They are rare," Ronas said carefully. "They do not always attack."
That unsettled everyone.
"When Anchors appear," Ronas continued, "the sea behaves differently. Currents shift. Other creatures withdraw or change behavior."
"So they lead them," Mira said.
Ronas shook his head. "We do not know that."
"But they change everything," Mira pressed.
"Yes," Ronas said quietly. "They do."
Kael raised his hand.
Ronas looked at him.
"You said the monsters appeared ten years ago," Kael said. "What about before that?"
Ronas answered honestly.
"Before that," he said, "the sea was dangerous—but normal."
A stir passed through the hall.
"No coordinated attacks," Ronas added. "No repeating patterns. No escalation."
Tavian exhaled slowly.
"So this isn't ancient," Tavian said. "It's recent."
Ronas nodded. "Recent—and growing."
Rask crossed his arms. "So we built our defenses while the threat was learning."
Ronas met his gaze. "Yes."
That admission hit harder than any attack.
Ronas straightened.
"We did not do nothing," he said. "We adapted. We trained. We classified."
"But we didn't understand," Kael said quietly.
Ronas looked at him for a long moment.
"No," he said. "We still don't."
A murmur spread.
"This classification," Ronas said, tapping the slate, "is not truth. It is a tool."
"A weak one," Rask muttered.
"A necessary one," Ronas replied. "Without it, fear spreads faster than monsters."
A Watcher stood.
"If they only started appearing ten years ago," he said, "does that mean they can stop?"
The hall held its breath.
Ronas answered carefully.
"We do not know," he said. "But we believe they respond to something."
"What?" the Watcher pressed.
Ronas shook his head. "We don't know."
That answer angered some and frightened others.
After the briefing, arguments broke out immediately.
"They're hiding the truth."
"There is no truth yet."
"Ten years isn't long enough to understand something like this."
"Then why pretend we do?"
Kael stepped outside with Tavian and Lyra.
The sea stretched before them, calm and bright under the afternoon light.
Lyra spoke first. "So everything we've known about the sea monsters… it's only been happening since we were children."
Kael nodded. "Which means they're not part of the world."
"They're an intrusion," Tavian said.
Kael looked at him sharply.
Tavian raised his hands. "Just saying how it feels."
Later that evening, Kael found Ronas near the lower archives.
"You connected the year," Kael said.
"Yes."
"Was that intentional?" Kael asked.
Ronas sighed. "People already feel it. Pretending otherwise only makes them suspicious."
"Do you believe the two events are connected?" Kael asked.
Ronas did not answer immediately.
"Belief is dangerous," he said finally. "It leads people to conclusions before they have facts."
Kael studied him. "But you suspect it."
Ronas met his gaze. "Yes."
That night, Kael stood on the wall, watching the water.
Ten years.
The monsters hadn't always been there.
They had arrived.
Which meant they could leave.
Or be sent away.
Or replaced.
That thought unsettled him more than the attacks themselves.
Below the surface, the water moved gently, hiding whatever waited beneath.
Kael tightened his grip on his sword.
If the threat had a beginning, then it had a cause.
And if it had a cause—
Then someone, somewhere, was responsible.
Far beneath the waves, movement slowed.
Patterns shifted again.
Observation continued.